


According to Plan

by flashforeward



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-21 00:34:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17632736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashforeward/pseuds/flashforeward
Summary: Illya should really be used to plans not going quite the way their supposed to.





	According to Plan

**Author's Note:**

> For fan flashworks prompt #252: Key, and the prompt "knock" on my fan flashworks bingo board

"This is a terrible idea," Illya said. Again. He strode along beside Napoleon, glaring ahead of them at the small, unassuming house where, according to UNCLE intelligence, a high ranking Thrush agent had gone to ground. The mission was to earn their trust, gather intel, and set up a tracker without being discovered. If that wasn't possible, they were to detain the Thrushie for interrogation.  
  
The plan - _Napoleon's_ plan -was to simply knock on the front door and turn on the charm. _Illya_ much preferred his plan - sneak in, steal what documents they could find, plant the tracker, and sneak out - but it had been vetoed by both Mr. Waverly and Napoleon. So here they were, striding up to a Thrush safe-house in broad daylight.  
  
Illya hated it.  
  
"I still don't see why we have to knock," he said as they neared the building.  
  
"Well, _I_ haven't got a key," Napoleon said, shooting Illya an infuriatingly cheeky grin. "Have you?"  
  
Illya only glared at him.  
  
They'd reached the door and Napoleon was giving his suit an artfully rumpled look. He glanced at Illya who, grudgingly, gave a nod. Napoleon knocked three times on the door, the sound sharp and sudden in the silence.  
  
There was no answer. Napoleon raised an eyebrow, knocked again, and again they waited. Time stretched, and still no answer came.  
  
"This is beginning to feel like a trap," Napoleon said, voice bright and conversational.  
  
Illya shot him a glare and shook his head. "I'll go around back," he said.  
  
Napoleon nodded, slipping a few tools from his pocket and kneeling down to work at the lock. Illya watched him for a moment before moving quickly and quietly around the building, keeping low to avoid the windows. At the back of the house, Illya found a single wooden door, secured with a simple hook and latch. It was the work of a moment to get the door open, and he sipped into a small, simple kitchen.  
  
A plate of half-eaten food sat on the table, a still warm pot of coffee on the stove. Illya slipped his gun from its holster and began the slow, steady process of clearing the house. He heard a creak as Napoleon got the front door open. Neither of them said anything, but Illya still felt better knowing Napoleon was in the house with him.  
  
(He wouldn't admit it, but he always felt better when Napoleon was nearby)  
  
They met in the hall that connected the front of the house with the back, their respective searches turning up nothing.  
  
"Whoever was here left only moments before we arrived," Illya said.  
  
"Or they were _taken_ ," Napoleon said. "It's possible someone else got here before us."  
  
Illya shook his head slightly. "There's no sign of a struggle," he said. "It's more likely they saw us coming and made their escape." He glared at Napoleon. "This is why I don't like knocking."  
  
"I'm rather fond of it," a slick, honeyed voice came from back by the kitchen. "It's so very _polite_ and you Uncle boys do love your social niceties."  
  
With one last glare at Napoleon, Illya turned towards the man behind them. The Thrush agent was a tall, broad shouldered man with short cropped hair and eyes so dark brown they looked like black holes in his pale face. He held a gun on them and smiled with all the warmth of a snake about to strike.  
  
"Drop your weapons," the man said. "There's no need for any blood to be shed. Yet."  
  
"You may have noticed there are two of us and only one of you," Napoleon countered, coming up beside Illya, gun trained on the Thrushie. "So I think it would be best if _you_ dropped _your_ gun.  
  
"Is that so?" the man asked. He snapped his fingers and two more Thrush agents came out from wherever they'd been hiding, flanking him and aiming more guns at Illya and Napoleon. The creak of a floorboard announced still more Thrushies behind them, likely with still more guns.  
  
"Your plan is going so well, Napoleon," Illya whispered as he set his gun on the floor and raised his hands above his head.  
  
"It is, isn't it?" Napoleon answered, following suit.  
  
A sharp pain on the back of the head sent Illya tumbling forward into darkness.  
  
\--  
  
Illya woke tied to a chair, back to back with Napoleon. He gave a few pulls at the ropes, but they were tight and secure. A Thrush agent stood guard, leering down at them and looking smug and triumphant.  
  
"Next time," Illya said when he felt Napoleon shift and was sure his partner was awake. "Next time, we do it my way." He hid a smile at Napoleon's chuckle, keeping one eye on the Thrushie while he slipped a hand along the back of Napoleon's chair to the pocket of his coat. He could _just_ reach, slipping his fingers inside and along the lining, easing the small knife from its hiding place.  
  
"We have to make sure there is a next time first," Napoleon said, shifting again and sending the coat swinging a little closer to Illya just long enough for him to get a proper grip on the knife.  
  
"Well, if there _isn't_ , it's your fault," Illya said, keeping the conversation going to so the Thrushie had something to focus on that wasn't the small, quick motions of his hand as he sawed at the ropes.  
  
"You should stop talking," the Thrush agent said, brandishing his gun. He paced uneasily in front of the door, clearly nervous about the arrival of his superior.  
  
"And why's that?" Napoleon asked, his voice light and cheery. "It's not like we're planning an escape. We're simply passing the time."  
  
"We couldn't plan an escape if we wanted to," Illya added. "Not with such an attentive guard watching us."  
  
"Yes, you have us dead to rights."  
  
"Why begrudge us some light conversation to ease the boredom?"  
  
The Thrush agent looked confused and uncertain. He'd raised his gun. Just a little, but enough that Illya, now free, could lunge forward and jam the barrel towards the ceiling without worrying about a stray shot hitting him or Napoleon. He disarmed the man quickly and efficiently, sending the gun clattering to the ground for Napoleon to scoop up while he swung a leg over the Thrushie's arm and tumbled them to the ground, arching his back and snapping the man's arm at the elbow. He rolled away quickly, getting back to his feet and joining Napoleon as they hurried out the door.  
  
It wasn't locked - why lock a door when your prisoners are tied up?  
  
"What are the chances they underestimated us?" Napoleon asked, easing into the hallway, gun at the ready.  
  
Illya stayed close behind him, poised and ready. "Unlikely," he said. "Not with the way they were expecting us."  
  
"Very astute," the first agent they'd run into appeared at the other end of the hallway. He looked relaxed and unconcerned, not even aiming a gun at them. He simply stood with his arms crossed over his chest, studying them. "Impressive, gentlemen, but I'm afraid it won't do you any good. You aren't getting out of here."  
  
"What makes you so sure?" Napoleon asked, inching forward and taking aim.  
  
"You wouldn't risk Mr. Kuryakin's life," the man said, nodding towards Illya, who felt an arm snaking around his neck. A knife pressed cold against his throat and he sighed and raised his hands. The man smiled. "See? If you kill me, you kill him."  
  
Illya heard the smile in Napoleon's voice as he spoke. "What makes you so sure?"  
  
The man's eyes went wide a moment before Napoleon took the shot. Illya grabbed the forearm of the man who held him and pushed it up, getting the knife away from his throat long enough to duck under the arm and pull away, wrenching the man's wrist as he turned. The knife clattered to the ground and Illya slammed his elbow into the man's temple, sending him to the floor as well.  
  
This taken care of, he turned to see their captor was lying on the floor, clutching at his shoulder. Napoleon hurried forward and knelt down, securing the man's wrists. "I'll radio for extraction," he said, standing again.   
  
Illya nodded. "I'll clear the rest of the house," he said. "And Napoleon?"  
  
Napoleon looked up from his radio, eyebrow raised.  
  
"Next time, we do it my way."


End file.
